 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
155
O TEMPORA; A FOURTH OF JULY REFLECTION.
Oh, would I were inspired to sing,
In lofty, sole un-metered rhyme,
The glory of some valorous thing
That happened in the olden time.
Alas, that patriotism's dead!
Alas, that creatures of today
Are not as man upon whose head
Sweet patriotism's beams were shed
An hundred years ago.
Ah woe
'Tis not these times that way!
In lofty, sole un-metered rhyme,
The glory of some valorous thing
That happened in the olden time.
Alas, that patriotism's dead!
Alas, that creatures of today
Are not as man upon whose head
Sweet patriotism's beams were shed
An hundred years ago.
Ah woe
'Tis not these times that way!
My theme's the dog, a pleasant cur
As ever trotted down the street,
Yellow his eyes, likewise his fur,
As mild a dog as you could meet
In a day's walk—but dogs today
Are not the dogs you used to find
Before brave Towsers had gi'en place
To a degenerate canine race,
An hundred years ago.
Oh no,
They are of the common kind.
As ever trotted down the street,
Yellow his eyes, likewise his fur,
As mild a dog as you could meet
In a day's walk—but dogs today
Are not the dogs you used to find
Before brave Towsers had gi'en place
To a degenerate canine race,
An hundred years ago.
Oh no,
They are of the common kind.
156
Why, in the days of Washington,
Where was the dog that thought to pale
At the suggestion he should run
A mile or two with his proud tail
Made fast unto an oyster can?
Why, that was simply glory then!
But now the dog's ashamed to drag
The can; and man forgets the flag.
An hundred years ago.
Not so,
So changed are dogs and men!
Where was the dog that thought to pale
At the suggestion he should run
A mile or two with his proud tail
Made fast unto an oyster can?
Why, that was simply glory then!
But now the dog's ashamed to drag
The can; and man forgets the flag.
An hundred years ago.
Not so,
So changed are dogs and men!
See how the dogling of today
Writhes, shies and tumbles to and fro
Adown the hot and dusty way,
And hark unto his yelp of woe
His broken hearted, plaintive cry,
Because a pail is to him tied!
Was it for this our fathers died
An hundred years ago?
No no!
But time hath changed us all.
Writhes, shies and tumbles to and fro
Adown the hot and dusty way,
And hark unto his yelp of woe
His broken hearted, plaintive cry,
Because a pail is to him tied!
Was it for this our fathers died
An hundred years ago?
No no!
But time hath changed us all.
July 4th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |